


into the dark

by Lise (thissugarcane)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ...platonic and romantic?, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Heaven, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Multi, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Queer Family, Series Finale, Soulmates, Spoilers, Spoilers for Episode: s15e20 Carry On, The family you choose, platonic or romanic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thissugarcane/pseuds/Lise
Summary: He thinks about Cas's small smile, outside the motel room, and digs deep inside himself: he pulls himself up, fingernail by fingernail. Sam doesn't have faith in god: he knew god. Prayer is just letters to the people he still misses. But faith--"I hope you're happy, Jack, somewhere," Sam says, and gets in the car.Love is boundless, endless, and family means a lot of things that maybe now, at the end, they finally get to keep.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. sent a message out

**Author's Note:**

> Sam's POV all about how much he loves his brother. But arguably it's also Dean/Cas, arguably it's Sam/Dean, and, there's no kissing at all. A lot of Feelings, but also prayers. To Jack.
> 
> I really don't know if I tagged this one correctly -- anyone who thinks I should change the tags or pairings, let me know. Because it's romantic love, but also more than that? Also, believe it or not, I'm an atheist.
> 
> Title from Ben Lee's "into the dark". Also, no beta, so constructive criticism / typos/ errors please let me know :)

I.

The first night alone -- really alone, still smelling like his brother's funeral pyre -- Sam prays to Jack. He begs, he pleads, he cries, he clutches that damned dog until the poor thing whimpers and he lets it go.

Jack doesn't come. Sam didn't expect him to-- he couldn't stop himself anyway, couldn't stop himself from _trying_. The dog licks his face. The dog needs food. The dog needs walking and shelter and Sam... he can't call the dog by its name, but it needs him, so he keeps getting out of bed.

Sam's in the unenviable position of knowing -- not suspecting, but _knowing_ \-- there are no such things as miracles anymore. Jack made sure.

-

Sam spends two weeks-- two weeks? seven hundred years of purgatory? a lifetime? thirteen days, seven hours and fourteen minutes-- haunting the bunker, before he can even walk past Dean's room with his eyes open. 

He prays to Jack a lot. It helps to have someone to talk to, to bite at, and the dog doesn't deserve all of what he's feeling. Jack doesn't either, Sam knows, but he also figures Jack will forgive him for it.

(Dean's dog would forgive him, too-- that's how dogs are. But he wants to keep the last piece of Dean happy, so he tries.)

-

The case in Austin turns out to be a lone werewolf, and Sam puts it down while the grateful sheriff watches in undisguised terror and awe. "You just, and it--"

Sam should feel guilty. He just shot a man -- and he supposes it's better to feel empathy for the monsters, now, than rage. He shot a werewolf, who transformed into a man. There were no signs the poor bastard even knew what he was doing. It wasn't his fault. "Silver to the heart," Sam's explaining. The dog is back at his motel room, probably hungry by now. His voice is hollow. "Silver rounds. Not easy to get unless you know a source, but not that hard to forge yourself. I have to go."

He books it out of Austin on autopilot, stops outside town on a dusty stretch of highway with no destination. "Jack," Sam says out loud. "I killed a werewolf today. A man. I don't feel guilty. I don't feel anything."

"Jack," Sam says, desperate. "What is the _point_?"

-

He means to go back to the bunker, but another one of Dean's phones ring. Weeks go by. Sam isn't careless -- his body moves carefully, with precision. Mind checked out. A predator in the dark. A regular haunting throws him down the stairs, and the shotgun goes flying -- he survives by rolling and pulling out an iron crowbar. Another werewolf in Wisconsin means Sam runs through forests for three days in wet autumn weather, night time frosting over while he huddles down to sleep. He gets wind of possible vampire attacks and clutches his chest, pain too sharp to breathe, before he gives them Jody's number.

-

"Jack," Sam says, three beers in. He puts his hand on the dog -- the dog, Dean's dog, because Sam can't name something that'll leave him. Not yet. "Jack, I'm so mad. I can't-- I can't."

It takes another six-pack before he can't take the silence, and starts to say, "Cas..." before he breaks down and cries.

-

He haunts three more towns, call after call, case after case. The dog is happy in the back seat of the Impala, tongue lolling out. Sam sticks to the salt-and-burns, mostly, because he knows he's getting a little bit reckless, and if there's one thing he's angry about more than being alone, it's at himself for not appreciating that he's still alive. The thing is, he _wants_ to move on. He just doesn't know how.

It's at a graveyard somewhere in the midwest, Sam laying in the grass, wet, muddy, tired, and Sam can't make himself get up again. The smell of burning bones, the charcoal remains, makes him want to throw up. "Jack," he says, staring up into the dark, "I don't know what to do. I'm trying, but, I just... don't know how to do this. Cas, I hope-- if you're asleep, if you're happy and asleep, happy to rest, then good, it's. I just _miss you_. I just."

It's so late it's early, which Sam only realizes when the minister who called about the case finds him laying in the dirt. "Son," he says to Sam carefully, "are you all right?"

The enormity of the question makes Sam laugh until he chokes.

-

The church Sam blinks at-- right. Minister. Graveyard. Burning bones. "I should bury the body again," Sam says dully.

The minister is peering at him over the back of a pew. "I can take care of it," he offers. "You've done more than enough."

Sam looks around. It's a small church, renovated modern-ish, but obviously a poor parish. For a minute, Sam misses the uncertainty of faith almost as much as he misses Jack himself. There's nothing in any church for him except old memories.

The minister offers tentatively, "Can I do anything for you, son? Can I pray for you?"

Sam wants to scream at him. He shrugs. "If it makes you feel better," he tells him, bald truth. "Can't do any harm, anymore."

The minister looks a little confused at that, but pats his arm and leaves Sam to thinking. To bury the bones. Maybe being in church does still have a little bit of sway over Sam, though, because he finally lets out a truth he hadn't been willing to tell himself, yet. "Jack," Sam says, "I think I wish I was dead."

-

II.

That night Sam dreams of the Stanford fire.

He wakes up, choking down a scream, and rubs his face.

This wasn't part of the bargain.

He blinks, and hears the buzzing -- another of Dean's phones. He looks at the caller (no ID of course, and wishes for quiet, for silence, as much as he'd been wishing for noise). The dog whumps its tail against the bed. Sam answers; it's Jody, and he barely keeps it together.

If he had to explain why he was answering Dean's phone, Sam knows he wouldn't have stopped from breaking down-- breaking down, and breaking the phone. But Jody gets it, and there's a long pause, and then she tells him about the haunting. "Keep in touch, Sam," she says, instead of anything else.

-

The next call is Donna.

He keeps hunting, ducking their calls because he can't handle it -- he knows Jody would let Dean's contacts know -- Dean's contacts, because his phones keep ringing and Sam's don't. Garth forwards him a request for information, and Sam emails back only because Garth lets him get away with not talking. It isn't until Charlie calls that Sam finally answers.

"Hey, kid," Charlie says. "How's tricks?"

He doesn't break down on the phone, though it's only because he's got practice.

"Yeah, I figured," Charlie's saying. "Look, Eileen wants to meet up with you, I'll send you her address. And I'll give you the time you need, but I want to see you, too."

Charlie tells him she's out, and Sam replies, "Good." He even means it.

-

It takes him another length of time before he goes to see Eileen, because facing someone else that knows Dean is-- having to talk and admit, even in the silences around them, that Dean won't be--

She signs to him, and it's easier than Sam thought it would be, and also harder. She doesn't ask him how he's doing or what his plans are; instead, Eileen asks him if he's going to go back to the bunker. Like, maybe he won't.

Until then, Sam hadn't even considered it one way or the other. When he can't reply, she offers to go for him: the notes, the information, the Men of Letters resources, she can manage for him. If he wants, she can grab anything he might want from the library, or the store rooms. If he wants, she can bring in help to keep the bunker going. Until, and if, he wants to go back.

She promises to leave their rooms alone, tells him she knows, and those doors can stay closed forever. Eileen doesn't tell him to feel better. She doesn't tell him to do anything. Even more, not once does Sam feel like she expects him to ever feel anything but loss.

Only then does Sam give her the key.

-

Another stretch of time, and Charlie gets him dead-drunk.

She spends most of the first hour laying upside down on the second queen bed in Sam's motel room, drinking beer through a straw, cheeks bright red and talking to the dog. Sam's got a bottle of whiskey beside him and a plastic cup, so he's not really following the one-sided conversation.

She looks at him at one point, and asks, "You gonna survive that bottle?" When Sam shrugs, she watches him seriously, but leaves it alone.

Charlie passes out on top of the covers, and Sam clicks his tongue for the dog to join her. He stumbles outside to sit in the car -- to sit in Dean's car.

"Jack," he mumbles (so, the bottle is more than half-empty, he's allowed). "Jack, I've lived far too long. My soul is old, Jack. Isn't it? It feels so old."

Sam heaves a choked-up breath; holding back tears is exhausting. "Cas, Castiel, angel of thursday--" he starts to say. "God. Jack. I don't even know if Cas is awake. I don't-- fuck. _Fuck_." He scrubs a hand over his face. "I know why Jack won't come. I hate it, but I, I get it. But Cas, man, if you're there, if you can. Please."

Sam closes his eyes for a long moment, wishing for death, praying for death. The whiskey's made his head hurt, the crying's made his eyes sore. Everything hurts.

"Sam," a quiet voice says beside him.

Sam opens his eyes and is met with Castiel's gaze, looking back at him.

-

III.

The first thing Sam does is pull his elbow back, textbook perfect form, to punch the angel right in the face.

Cas watches him, waiting, and Sam feels his fist trembling, his whole essence shaking. He drops his arm. "Why?" he asks.

Cas frowns. "What are you asking?"

Why leave me alone, Sam doesn't say. He wipes his eyes, angry all over again. "You wait months to show up, when we were-- after, you never, you didn't-- when Dean--"

Even saying his brother's name hurts. Sam can't survive it. Cas's face softens, and he looks away. "The gates of heaven and hell are to be closed, Sam," he says quietly. "Jack made us promise. No more interference. We aren't supposed to be on earth. It's--"

Cas cuts himself off. "No apology will be big enough for you, Sam," he says. "But I am sorry."

"But you're-- you're okay? I mean," and Sam waves a clumsy hand at Cas. "You're alive, and talking, and."

Cas gives him a small smile. "Yes. I... woke up."

It explains exactly nothing, but Sam sags against the passenger seat of the Impala. He woke up, again. Jack had the power to wake him up, so he did. And yet, Dean is still gone. "I can't do this, Cas," Sam grits out. "I just..."

Cas shuffles around, uncomfortable in the driver's seat. Neither of them liked sitting behind that steering wheel as much as Dean does. Did. Fuck. _Fuck_. "The gates of heaven are closed," Cas explains. "Humans... faith requires faith. But you know too much of heaven and hell to be satisfied, Sam, and that isn't fair."

Sam shrugs, feeling his throat close up. Fuck, but it feels like he'll never stop crying. "Nothing is fair."

After a long moment (because if anyone could understand that), Cas says, "No."

-

"So why now? After everything that--"

Cas sits in the front seat of the Impala, still and quiet, and finally says to Sam, "Because someone who knows heaven exists, who raised Jack, has a different measure of faith. And because knowing Dean is in heaven, that you will see him..."

Cas tells him gently, "You have been praying to die, Sam. And if this small piece of information helps, then I'm glad to give it to you. It is a tiny interference... but your soul has seen too much, more than humanity."

Sam sniffles, feeling hollowed out and raw still. But. "Dean, he's?"

"In heaven." Cas nods. "Time is complicated. 'Waiting' isn't quite right. But he will be there, when you are."

"Do you promise?"

Cas smiles at him. "That's the nature of faith. You knew Jack. We raised him. What do you say?"

Sam's feeling more sober by the minute, so he asks the important question, "Will I remember this later?"

"I don't know," Cas admits. "How much of that whiskey are you going to drink before now and tomorrow morning?"

Sam fights a smile, maybe the first he's felt since Dean-- since Dean. "I don't know," he tells Cas. "Less, if you conjure yourself up a glass."

-

Cas drinks from the bottle, Sam sways on the edge of more sober than not (he doesn't want to black out), and they talk a little. Nothing big. Sam tells him things: the salt and burns. Stupid motel shit. They reminisce a little. Cas is a warm, steady presence. It feels _good_ , for once, to be able to talk to his friend. It's a tiny drop, but it's good.

"Will you come and visit, some time?" Sam asks, once. Cas doesn't answer. "I take it that's a no."

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you," Cas tells him. "One day."

It shouldn't make anything easier, because he's still so hollowed out with grief that-- Sam falls asleep in the passenger seat, and when Charlie knocks on the window next to his head, he wakes up, startled, wondering why Dean wasn't just getting in, before the grief washes over him in a wave so heavy, it's over his head and drowning.

Charlie motions with her hand, and Sam rolls down his window. She looks terrible, hungover, but she's there.

"Breakfast?" she asks, and then she says, "though if you're gonna throw up, do that beforehand, I'm not cleaning up the car" -- and she doesn't say 'Sam's car', and she doesn't ask if he's okay... and Sam looks to his left, where the whiskey bottle is empty.

-

IV.

It gets a bit simpler, after that: instead of anger, hopelessness, and grief, all Sam's left with is the grief. It isn't _easier_ , because he still misses Cas, and Jack, and Kevin, and fuck, his mother and his dad and everyone so much. But -- haltingly explaining to Eileen in a motel two counties over from the bunker, he still can't go back there -- how losing so much, he should be better at it...

She tells him that never makes it any easier, and Sam decides to stick around a little while.

-

V.

When Sam finds out they might have a child, he balks. But he's given a gentle ultimatum: in or out. A child deserves him to be the best version of himself -- that doesn't mean he won't still grieve. That doesn't mean he won't miss Dean until the end of his days. But he has to be as present as he can be, to be a father, and he can't go off and die on a child. In or out.

Sam knows this: he knows it because of the man who raised him, the child who saved his life and kept on saving it. He needs some time to think about it, he says, and drives out to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

"Jack," Sam starts to say. "Jack, what do I _do_?" He's terrified: he can't raise a baby. He can barely keep himself upright, some days -- that's what missing people does to you, that's what sadness does to you.

Jack doesn't answer, but he knows what Dean would say: Sammy, he'd say, you got this. Come on, kids are easy. Teach'em how to hit a baseball, how to shoot, how to drink, and how to love. The rest is details.

"Did Cas, did we all do right by you, Jack?" Sam wonders out loud. "Are you happy? Can you even be happy, or did we take that away, too?"

He thinks about Cas's small smile, outside the motel room, and digs deep inside himself: he pulls himself up, fingernail by fingernail. Sam doesn't have faith in god: he knew god. Prayer is just letters to the people he still misses. But faith--

"I hope you're happy, Jack, somewhere," Sam says, and gets in the car. 

-

The people who know them say 'Dean Jack Winchester' is a fine name, though as his son gets old enough he prefers his nickname. Dean is his uncle. Dean is the hole in his father; Sam feels guilty, that his son knows the depths of how much he still feels sad, sometimes... but lying about it won't help anyone, and he doesn't want to raise his son afraid to show his emotions.

Things carry on, and carry on.

Sam can feel happy and sad at the same time, which is big enough. His son grows up, little by little, and they give him a choice about how and if he wants to hunt. He's more of a men of letters than a hunter, and Sam's relieved, hopes he has a good, long life.

Sam still prays, to Jack, and to Cas, and accepts they won't answer. It isn't why he keeps talking to them. Sam just hopes they hear that they're missed. That they're still loved.


	2. my way to your heart

VI.

"Heya Sammy."

"Dean." And Sam smiles.

-

VII.

They get back in the car without saying anything else. Sam feels-- wow. Sam realizes: nothing hurts.

He takes a minute, running a hand over the Impala's soft leather; he couldn't bring himself to drive the car, once he stopped hunting for good. Got it towed to be tuned up. Every anniversary (Dean's birthday, Dean's death, Dean's death-- he kept it to anniversaries so he wouldn't sit in the car forever, missing Dean) he'd sit in the front seat and cry and miss everybody, but couldn't bring himself to take it out on the road again, just to drive. Sitting in the driver's seat hurt too much.

"Been driving for side A," Dean comments finally. There's a little smile on his face as he stops the tape deck. "Side A," he says, "And you lived your whole life."

"Yeah." Sam's a little overwhelmed. "What else did Bobby say?"

"Time works differently here, like I said," Dean is saying. "Everyone's around. No walls, no memories. It's good."

"And the car, somehow?" Sam says. It feels strange, to be teasing. To feel so light; he'd been sick for a while, now, every motion hurting. Now he's... light. Easy.

"Of course my baby is in heaven, Sam!" Dean's full on smiling now. "Where else would she be?"

Sam stares out the passenger window for a little while, thinking about time and space. Wonders how it works; Cas, down on earth for that one night of heavy drinking and talking about Jack. Was it a blink, in Heaven? Was it an eternity? "You talked to anyone else?"

"Nah, not yet," Dean tells him. "I needed a little bit of time to get it together. It was kinda weird, feeling okay after so long of-- anyway. Bobby told me you'd be along, I got in the car for a little bit, just to think. Put a tape in to listen to. Like I said, side A, and bam, here you are." He smiles again, right at Sam like he'd never been able to before, with so much in the way. "So where to?"

Sam blinks. "I dunno," he tells Dean.

"You got a spouse, a partner, to see?" Dean asks him, all easy-like as if the answer won't hurt. Sam takes a moment, a huge piece of something off his spine: it won't hurt Dean, if he does.

Sam shakes his head, then nods, then shrugs. "I mean, we didn't get married," he starts, awkward all of a sudden. "I couldn't-- she knew how so much of me was all locked up missing you. But we loved each other as best we could. Friends. She was a good mom, I tried to be a good dad. Our son is a good man, so." He shrugs. "She died on a haunting pretty young, so I had to step up. I hope I did right by him."

"You did," Dean tells him, so easily it's like Dean doesn't have to think about it at all. "I know you did."

Right then, Sam gets why Dean needed a little while to himself, once he got up here. That this is Dean telling him: I know you raised your son right. That Dean, the one who carried Sam up the hill, the one who raised him up for so many years, and kept doing it no matter what... he should be bursting into tears. He should be weeping, for what it means.

But Dean is calm, and Sam is too, and it's a little bewildering to think about. He wipes his eyes, a few tears there, takes a breath, and lets it out.

-

Side B gets them out of the forest and into rolling hills, golden wheat fields, the smell of grasses sweet on the breeze. Like the heartland, rural highways, but easy. Sam doesn't get it. 

"Does the scenery, is it static?" he wonders. "If we kept driving, would the roads look the same? Is there a map? What if we got lost, how would you get back to-- you said Bobby was sitting outside the Roadhouse right? How would we get back there, if things don't stay the same?"

Beside him, Dean chuckles. "It's fine, Sammy," he reassures him, and all of a sudden, it is. "Look, I dunno how, but I think... you can point which way Bobby is, can't you?"

Sam frowns. He thinks a minute, then nods. "Yeah. I can. But _how_?"

Dean shrugs. "Jack's a good kid," he says quietly, and yeah, that about sums it up. How could it really be Heaven if you could get lost?

-

"Have you talked to Jack?"

Dean shakes his head, sad. "I don't think we're gonna get to, Sam."

Sam didn't think so, but then... "I prayed to him," he admits. Dean looks over, from the driver's seat. "Every day, at first. More than that." He gives Dean a rueful look. "A lot. I didn't, you know. I wanted so badly to try and fix it, sometimes yelling at Jack was the only thing stopping me. Even so."

"Even so. I know, Sammy."

The thing is, Sam knows, deep down in his heart and in the twinned soul he carries, the hurt and broken fragments of his soul, stitched together by Dean's love and Sam's stubbornness: Sam knows Dean gets it.

"But I'm glad you didn't," Dean tells him, and it doesn't even hurt. 

Sam takes a moment. Takes another breath. It is weird, being calm. He doesn't want to ask this next one, but... "You think," he starts, "that since we shared a heaven before, that..?"

He doesn't even really know what he's asking: whether it's cheating, whether they're really free. Whether Chuck's grand plan, his Cain and Abel mark two ever really let them escape. Dean drove around until Sam showed up; Sam missed him every day of his life.

"Hey," Dean says, firm and gentle at the same time. "Chuck mighta messed with time and space so we were born who we were. He mighta fated us to be soulmates because of the whole," and Dean smacks a hand against the steering wheel, "thing. But listen."

Sam watches him as he gathers himself. "I meant it. I love you. And Jack knew--" He looks at Sam. "Whatever else, free will doesn't mean giving that up. You're my brother. Chuck coulda pulled all the strings in the world, and I'd still choose to be your family, Sam. Stone number one."

"Me too," Sam admits. Okay, now he's choking up a little.

"Hey, hey," Dean soothes. "It's okay now, remember? Heaven! Soulmates or not, fated or not." Dean waits until Sam's gotten himself together again. Dean tells him seriously, "That doesn't matter to me, Sammy. You're here, and I'm here. We're good."

-

VIII.

Sam tells Dean, "Okay, let's go see everyone," and Dean doesn't hesitate to drive back to where the Roadhouse was. It takes a song and a half, and Sam feels the wind on his face, the sun through the windshield almost hot enough to cause sunburn, but not quite. They sing along, offkey. 

When Dean park and Sam sees the small bar standing, a grimy pitstop, he can't stop smiling to see it whole and alive and not burned down.

"I wonder where all the angels are." Sam gets out of the car, looking up at the Roadhouse sign. "If heaven is all, mixed up and together. Are they somewhere else? Are they here but we can't see them? Are most of them just, gone? That doesn't seem fair. They tried. Well. Some of them did."

Dean huffs. "I swear, Sam. Not even here an hour and already you want to start researching." He grins. "Think we can make the Men of Letters library poof up outta nowhere?"

Sam feels his face light up. With no hunts, no threat -- with no fears, could he really just... read for eternity? 

"Oh man." Dean shakes his finger at Sam. "I know that face. Come on! Reunions first, geek out later. You got time to figure it out, Sammy. Live in the moment a little."

Something shivers through Sam at that, a good feeling, but something important. Live in the moment. Time is a flat circle. "I never was good at physics," he mutters to himself, but happy, so happy, and he follows Dean into the bar.

-

"You pair of idjits," is Bobby's gruff greeting, and Sam cries as he holds on tight to the closest they'd had to a father, once John Winchester was gone.

-

"So."

Sam's got a fresh beer, a crisp IPA that tastes like the one Jess bought him at Stanford, the first night they'd met. There he was, fresh off hunting, good fake ID, and a laundry list of griefs all welling up, and the girl from his econ class offered him a pint. Like that. Like yeah, maybe I can do this, maybe I can let it go a little. Maybe I can put it down.

Bobby rolls his eyes. "All right, go on. Ask."

He doesn't even know what he intends to say, until he knows; Sam leans forward, pitches his voice so Dean probably won't hear him where he's shooting pool with Jo. "Where's Cas?" he asks.

Bobby inclines his head to the door. "Wherever you ask, I'd wager. But go on, take it outside a moment."

Sam isn't sure if it's to keep Dean from dealing, from feeling that sadness; whether Bobby doesn't want to see the angel, or whether -- who knows. Maybe angels in heaven won't fit inside, their real forms too... big. Only, if time is a flat circle, then physicality is just--

"Go on, Winchester," Bobby says, indulgent. "You can think about how shit works all you like, or you can go on and pray. Which is it?"

Sam goes out the door.

-

He doesn't realize he needed another moment to himself until he's gone outside to look up at the sunny sky -- sunny sky, few clouds, soft breeze. Green mountains stretching off into the distance. His mom and dad are over there. His friends are waiting. Sam can hear birdsong. God. This is heaven. Thank you, Jack. Thank you for being you, and being such a good you. 

Then he folds his hands together, closes his eyes and bows his head. "Castiel," he says formally, "seraphim, angel of tuesdays, part of the heavenly host... pain in Dean's ass. If you don't come say hi now that I'm dead, I'm gonna have to come and find you, hug you, and kick your ass."

-

IX.

He doesn't open his eyes until he hears the flutter of wings, a familiar sound to anyone who's heard an angel approach. Is that anyone, other than the few hunters who knew him and Dean? Would anyone know that particular sound isn't just birds, than him and Dean?

"You kept your promise," Sam says, pleased to be able to wrap his arms around Cas's shoulders.

"You kept up hope," Cas murmurs into his hair.

-

The thing was, a lot of the time in the beginning, before DJ was born, Sam was one step away from wanting to die. Sometimes a half-step. Sometimes not even a step. But he wasn't sure if suicide was a mortal sin, and he didn't how things might have changed. And Dean had always wanted him to live, so, Sam tried.

"Trying is human," Cas tells him, grave.

Sam punches his arm. "So why aren't you inside?" He tilts his head to the Roadhouse: why aren't you inside with Dean? Why stay away? "Does he even know you're okay?"

Cas looks at him.

Sam twists his lips, a hint of a smirk. God-- Jack. Nah, better curse God's name. Pray to Jack. Curse Chuck. "God," Sam says. He stares at Cas a little longer. It has been _so long_. "God. It really is good to see you."

Cas hesitates. "I could not come back. Again. I should not have gone at all, but decided it was all right. Once."

Sam frowns. "Why not? I mean, I get why you couldn't do anything--" and his heart is almost healed over: Cas, not resurrecting Dean. Not giving him back his brother. Humanity is loss. He's dead now, he can look at it a little more philosophically. "But like. You could have called. Said hi. It was lonely."

Like Stanford, Sam doesn't say.

Cas looks troubled. "Time is different here," is all he says.

-

Sam desperately wants to understand Heaven. Cas looks bewildered. "It is heaven," he tells Sam.

Maybe for the angel, it's enough? "But--"

"Hey, where'd you get to, Sammy!"

Dean's voice comes from the porch; Sam and Cas are tucked against the building. For a moment, Cas looks terrified, then his face calms down. Sam tilts his head. "Scared to face him?"

"A little."

Sam wraps an arm around Cas -- marvelling that he can. Oh wonderous new world, Jack, Sam thinks, and yells, "Over here, Dean!"

-

The moment Dean's eyes lock on Cas's, Sam feels a little curl of warmth in his gut. This, this is what his brother should have looked like, all those years long. Nothing to fight. Nothing to _worry_ about. Maybe this is Dean getting something he wanted, for once, other than Sam himself.

-

They sit at the bar and joke. Sam's incredulous it's so easy; Cas won't take his eyes off Dean, and Dean isn't much better -- but then, he remembers, Dean maybe didn't know Cas was even around. Maybe he'd thought Cas was still dead, gone. 

He lets the two of them catch up, because Dean keep shooting him little glances and Sam gets it: he needs a minute so things aren't overwhelming. It's sad, but understandable: happiness is overwhelming for the two of them. Besides, Charlie's soul is here -- the soul of the Charlie they knew before, the one that stubbornly fought with them with no experience. He sits with her and Jo.

Charlie whistles. "Did they never get it together?"

Sam feels a brief wave of loss, even here, even now: because, no. With everything in the way? "When would they have had the time?"

Charlie bumps his shoulder, and says comfortingly, "Well, that won't be an issue anymore."

Sam nods. No, it won't be. "So okay. I'm--"

He was about to say 'I'm dying to know', but, huh. That doesn't work anymore. Jo rolls her eyes, looking exasperated, and Charlie grins, smug.

"I gotta know," Sam corrects. "Who do I talk to, to figure things out? Cas just said, it's heaven. Which, yeah, but I don't get it. And I asked Dean where all the angels were, and he just," and Sam makes a gesture at Dean -- Dean gives him the finger right back, but his eyes are crinkled, soft.

"Well, I don't know much," Jo tells him. "Maybe Ash? Or Bobby could point you."

Charlie smacks her hand against his bicep, and he feels just full of love. "Would you quit worrying already!" she says, laughing. "Calm down. There's no case."

That's just it: there's no case. Sam doesn't have to do anything. He can spend all of time-- because what is heaven? is it all of time? Does it exist out of time? What's going _on_?-- figuring it out.

-

"Come on," Bobby says, sounding long-suffering; behind them, Dean's challenged Cas to the hot-wings. "Get it out."

Sam goes to open his mouth, and can't figure out how to even say it. "Time is different up here?" he starts.

"Look, I ain't a physicist or a mathematician," Bobby says. "Best way I can figure it, angels can exist at all points in time and space when they're not on Earth. They're here, there and everywhen."

Sam thinks about it. "Cas came to see me once. After Dean-- after Dean was gone."

Bobby frowns. "Then he risked trapping himself out of time, I guess. Or he got permission, how'm I supposed to know? Look. You want to research the hell outta heaven, you can do that, okay? You can do what you want and need. If it makes you happy, do it. But don't do it because you feel like you gotta."

"That's just it," Sam says, surprised even at himself -- he realizes, yep, he's okay with this. He's okay with never figuring it out, but trying will make him happy. Will give him something to puzzle over, and that he's okay with that. He's okay.

"All right, then," Bobby replies. He looks pleased.

-

He doesn't want to interrupt his brother and Cas, but well. Sam's starting to suspect that Cas's appearance, him being here, is bigger than he first thought. That maybe, he didn't stay away just to keep Sam from having a normal life, or to keep Dean from thinking about it or whatever.

They're eating, fingers messy and mouths sticky with wing-sauce. Dean is laughing. Sam hates to interrupt, so for a while he sits down at the table -- he isn't an interloper. He's wanted, they smile at him easy, even after everything they do want him there. Sam feels it: a strange reversal, the opposite of jealousy. Even if he disrupts this, they won't want him to leave. Dean won't ever want him to leave.

"Cas," Sam finally asks. "How risky was you coming to earth that night?"

"Wait." Dean sits up, looking shocked. "You went to earth? After I died? Dude!"

"The gates of heaven were closed, but there were extenuating circumstances."

Sam laughs; he sounds like a lawyer, or at least, someone pretending to be a lawyer. Still, Cas looks fine, looks happy to answer. "There was a chance I would not be able to regain my form, or heaven. But I believed it would be fine."

Belief. Sam shakes his head. "Well, thank you."

"Of course, Sam," Cas tells him.

Dean knocks his shoulder against Cas; he lets himself stay in Cas's personal space, leaning against Cas as if it's natural and fine and he wants to. There's no jealousy, only deep, profound gratitude, a well of it so hard Sam's afraid he'll start crying again. Thank you, Jack, Sam prays fervently. Thank you for letting my brother be okay.

-

They close down the bar. 

Ellen kicks them out-- "Even in heaven I wanna sleep, you fools, now get!"-- so they stumble out to where the Impala is parked, laughing into the night. Dean moves to sit on the hood, and Cas hesitates.

Sam grabs him by the hand and shoves him at his brother. "Go on," Sam says.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean tries.

Sam grins wide -- even here, even now, he knows he can needle his brother, and now they're safe, and happy, he doesn't have to fight to always be the one sitting beside Dean. Now, he knows he's always beside Dean. Sam runs around the car and hops up onto the roof, instead.

"Aw, Sam!" Dean protests. "Come on. Watch the paint!"

He lays down, content to stare up at the brilliant night sky. Sam reaches a hand down blindly, finds a shoulder, squeezes it -- Dean, always Dean -- and then lays his hands on his stomach. He closes his eyes. He isn't sleeping, and he isn't ignoring them. Dean knows he's there. Dean knows he'll be there, heaven and hell-- and Sam snorts to himself. Ain't that the truth.

Jack, Sam prays. I wish you were here to talk back. I still miss you. But I think... even god deserves happiness, and I can feel you here. I know you know that. So thanks.

"It's good to have you back, Cas," Dean's saying quietly. Sam listens, content. "I didn't-- I thought about what to say a million times. And then I'm here, and there's Bobby, and you weren't."

There's rustling. "The man who raised you," Cas tells him reverently. "He came to you first. It was right."

"Hah." Dean's gruff, as he says, "we raised Jack, though." There's a long moment of quiet, and Sam wonders how long it is, on earth. Will he wake up tomorrow and meet his son? Will he be able to reach out, with one hand, and twist, and see the birth of the universe? Will Jack ever pray back to him?

Cas continues, "Your soul and Sam's are... big, Dean."

Understatement of the year. Sam refrains from snorting. This is hard for both of them, he figures.

"Yeah, but."

"Angels do not usually experience time in a linear fashion, in heaven," Cas is explaining. He's quiet, struggling. "In order to be here-- there's difficulty. And every time I did, it would carry greater risk. I thought it would be better if, I only did once."

"Except for that time you visited Sam on earth, dummy." Dean's voice is fond. "Yeah, I think I get it. I'm always waiting for Sammy. If time ain't linear, better to pick the moment to start feeling it after he shows."

Good god. Jack, please don't let them fuck this up, Sam prays. Please let Dean have something good. Please let Dean let Dean have something good.

"It is always you and Sam," Cas is saying gravely, and no, wait, shit, that isn't what Sam wants to hear, because Cas is sad, and heaven shouldn't be--

Before he can heave himself upright, Dean's interrupting. "Hey, what's heaven, huh?"

Cas sounds confused. "Heaven is heaven."

"Happiness? Peace?" Dean insists. There's the soft sound of movement, and Dean says, "Listen Cas. Sam is my whole world. We know that. But this isn't earth, it's heaven. There's nothing left to fight. So why not?"

Sam waits. Please. Please don't let my brother lose the happiness he could finally find. Even if he had to die to get it. Please, Jack.

"Look. I love you, Cas." Sam swallows, throat tight with threatening tears, to think about Dean saying it so easy. He never would have, when they were alive. "Yeah, Sam and me shared a heaven, once," Dean's saying. "When no one else did, it was me and Sam. Nothing's gonna change that and I wouldn't want to. But hey. Now everyone shares heaven. So what's heaven, huh?"

Cas sounds wonderous. "Heaven is contentment, peace. It's the absence of loss, Dean."

"Yeah?" Sam can hear the smile in Dean's voice. "So it was always gonna be me and Sam. But now my heaven has you in it, too."

-

X.

They get on the road. Sam's in the back seat for now, because-- heaven has wi-fi! Heaven has wifi. "Thank you, Jack," he'd said fervently, when he opened up the Impala's trunk to find a bag with his laptop in it, connected to the internet. The internet! In heaven!

They get on the Axis Mundi, only it isn't that because nowhere and everywhere is the garden, except it's not the garden. Sam really wishes he'd been better at physics. "Where to?" Dean asks, already shoving in a tape.

Sam waits for Cas to reply, but he's quiet. "Cas? You're sticking around, right?" Sam asks.

Cas turns to look at Sam in the back seat, and he still seems pensive. So Sam shoves him, lightly, and tries to pour all the gratitude and happiness at the angel. Angels shouldn't have feelings -- except Chuck was human now, and Cas seemed to feel time going past the same way they did. Maybe the Impala was a bit of a pocket dimension of their own; maybe so long as they were driving, together, they'd stay on the same wavelength. Feel time together.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says. "We want you around so long as you'll stay. The rest, we can figure out."

"Except food!" Sam calls out. "I know I shouldn't be hungry, but damn. I really want--"

"Let me guess, chicken salad and a health food muffin for dessert," Dean teases. "Maybe some quinoa."

Just for that, Sam shoves Dean. "The greasiest, messiest diner burger you can find," Sam declares. "And a strawberry milkshake."

"Oh man," Dean says, tapping his hands on the Impala's steering wheel. "Remember that place outside Topeka, with the shakes?"

Sam shakes his head incredulously. "That's like, eight million diners."

"No, the one with the malted shakes!" Sam leans his chin on the back of the Impala's bench seat, perfectly content for maybe the first time in his life since he was eight years old. They'll get some food -- the best food they've ever had. Sam will take them to see Jess again, Cas will let him sit up front a while. They'll meet up with their parents. They have the time, now. Nothing's a rush. 

He's fading out, half-asleep, so he almost misses it when Dean takes his hand off the gearshift to hold Cas's hand: gently, like it matters more than anything. But here's the thing: Dean doesn't hide it, doesn't even try. He catches Sam's eye, still grinning, and rambing away about the best milkshakes in America. Cas looks gobsmacked, and then, slowly, happy for real.

And out in front of the car stretches miles of heaven's ashphalt, taking them home.


End file.
